Hope
by Prophetic Fire
Summary: Rex doesn't have a plan for this scenario, but he knows he can't turn Dogma away. When Dogma speaks again, it's just one word. "Hope." An Alternate Lives of Dogma story.


When Dogma gets up one time in the middle of their sleep rotation and disappears for a while, no one questions it. He's always been the lightest sleeper in all of Torrent. Probably went to the 'fresher. Probably doing a little...private polishing of his deece. He's shy about that, they know. Either that or he's up recalibrating his HUD or something. He did have some sort of comm unit or tech piece or packet of lube or something in his hand, after all. But that's just Dogma.

When Dogma only pokes at his rations the next morning instead of dutifully cleaning his plate like usual, and tries to avoid all eye contact, everyone thinks Dogma knows that they know what he was up to. Hardcase gives him some crap about it, but Dogma shoots back that they don't know anything and leaves the mess, abandoning his food entirely. They let it go after that. Kix checks up on him later, just to make sure he's not ill, but he's fine, and Kix chalks it up to stress. They all get like that sometimes.

When Dogma starts asking, every few weeks or so, to switch a patrol rotation or maintenance shift, or carves out a few moments by himself during deployment, no one thinks anything of it. He's finally adjusting, finally mellowing out. Everybody swaps shifts every once in a while for personal time, or covers for somebody else for whatever reason. They're brothers. They have each other's backs. And Dogma never fails to return the favor.

When Dogma sits on a bench in the 'fresher, staring off into nothing, still in his towel because he hasn't even finished dressing yet, he gets a couple pats on the back and a soft word of encouragement from Jesse. It was a hard battle they'd gone through, and it's clearly had an effect on Dogma, since he's usually still so by-the-book with his hygiene routine. Tup asks what he's thinking about, but all Dogma says is, "The future." There's more, Tup thinks, but Dogma won't talk anymore, and Tup leaves him be.

When Dogma won't stop nervously fidgeting in the gunship, Rex puts a hand on his shoulder, and tells him that just because they're coming back to this planet doesn't mean they failed a year ago, and if anything they know all the best places to dig in and wipe out the Seps again. Dogma's grown so much since last time, and Rex is proud of him and confident in his abilities. Dogma nods and gives a curt, "Thank you sir," but everyone can see that he's full of anxious tension.

When Dogma debarks the gunship, sees the city in ruins, belching great clouds of black smoke, and takes off running, Fives screams at him to get back in formation. But with blaster bolts starting to whiz past their heads, he doesn't have time to go after him or even think about him, not when there's a gap to be filled and an objective to be accomplished.

When Dogma doesn't return that afternoon, or that night, or the next day, people start to talk. Dogma's snapped. Dogma's gone AWOL. Dogma's turned his back on all of us. Tup doesn't want to think about that, but he can't help wondering if Dogma is injured somewhere in the city, or maybe even dead. Fives and Jesse are more than angry. So is Kix. They lost Oz and Ringo, and everyone blames Dogma. Rex can't help feeling like somehow it's his fault, for not realizing in the gunship that something was wrong.

When Dogma slowly approaches camp a few nights later, holding a small sack of some sort, the troopers on watch immediately alert Rex. Not wanting to make a scene, Rex confronts Dogma before he can make it any further past their perimeter. In hushed hisses, Rex berates Dogma for abandoning his position and threatens that he better have a very good explanation for why he blatantly disobeyed orders. Dogma is gingerly cradling the sack like he's afraid he might drop it. Rex snaps at him to put it down and pay attention, and the sack makes a noise.

When Dogma gently tugs at the bundle to reveal that it's blankets and not a sack, Rex pales. With a steel voice, he asks Dogma where in the hell he got a baby from? And why was he bringing it here? With a voice so quiet Rex has to lean in to hear him, Dogma says, "It's my daughter, sir...and I have nowhere else to go." Rex isn't even sure he heard Dogma right, until Dogma quickly explains about the first time they'd come to the planet, about the time he got lost, about the sweet girl he'd met who took him in and who was very cute and Dogma didn't think he'd ever get another chance and–– Everything clicks into place for Rex. All of Dogma's changing behavior this past year, his agitation in the gunship, his desertion of his post. Rex doesn't ask where the girl is now; he knows. The city is gone. Dogma is on the verge of tears before him, trembling like a leaf. But as the moments pass, his hold on the squirming bundle grows surer and surer. Rex doesn't have a plan for this scenario, but he knows he can't turn Dogma away. He gazes at the scrunched up little face inside the blankets, and asks Dogma if she has a name.

When Dogma speaks again, it's just one word.

"Hope."


End file.
